Latest fostering epidemic … er … adventure leaves us now with Evaki (mom cat) and Toltec, her son. Buddha is from a different litter and has kept Toltec company after his siblings went off to their new homes. We said “no” to fostering for a while… and will say “no” again when this batch is gone. But I never regret the time spent with each and every foster cat and kitten that makes its way from death’s door to our house to a permanent home. Just requires getting used to little ladders of kitten scratches up and down legs and arms (they do like to climb) and realizing a certain amount of writing time does get sucked away by the Ultimate Cute of Kittens.
Okay, I have posted again after another hiatus caused by brain fog. Hopefully (sorry, Mom, but it’s a word now and not nearly as bad as some of the ones Sarah Palin uses) I will be able to find my steady rhythm again.
“Immediately, the post is really the greatest on this precious topic. I harmonise with your conclusions and definitely will thirstily look forward to your incoming updates. Just saying thanks definitely will not just be enough, for the extraordinary lucidity in your writing. I definitely will promptly grab your rss feed to stay abreast of any kind of updates. Genuine work and also much success in your business endeavors!”
What does it say about me that I read “I definitely will promptly grab your ass” instead of “rss” there?
I remember when I was one of a relatively small fringe group of people who actually put some thought into what I’d do if the dead came back to life and started eating the living. I had plans for fortifying my house, where to go if that failed, what my weapon of choice would be, and other assorted details. Anytime I went anywhere, I would note the locations of possible exits and entrances, raw materials for boarding up windows/doors, and surrounding terrain to check for escape routes. Sure, people thought I was weird, but it was fun. And there were just enough other like minded zombacolypse obsessed folks out there that I didn’t feel lonely. More like part of a small, select club but instead of secret handshake, we all knew the only way to put down a zombie was to shoot it in the head.
Nowadays you can’t turn around without running into zombie savvy civilians. While they’re not exactly the new vampire (zombies do NOT sparkle), zombies have taken over publishing, movies, television and pop culture as relentlessly as they’ve overrun farmhouses and malls in George Romero’s films. Even the CDC has gotten into the rotting, shambling spirit of things.
On one hand, this makes me happy as there is a potentially unlimited supply of books and movies for me to enjoy. And no, I don’t think zombies have ‘jumped the shark’ in terms of overstaying their welcome. Diehards like me (pun really not intended, but acknowledged) will never get tired of them as long as at least a percentage of the new material is good. True, there’s a lot of shite out there, but even that can be fun if you’re … well, if you’re kind of weird like me. I hope to add to the list of good books out there with my Ashley Parker series so I’m not in any hurry to see zombies leave the spotlight any time soon.
But I admit I kind of liked being part of that small, select club who knew what I meant when I said, “They’re dead. They’re all messed up.” Or “Shoot ’em in the head. It’s the only way to be sure.”
I’m not entirely sure why a cat up on its hind legs makes it a zombie cat, but I’ll go with it.This picture made me smile because Brian and I used to have a cat named Asmodeus (which was shortened to Asmos, Asmo-Bop and Shmoo, depending on … well, who knows?) who loved his butter pecan ice cream. He didn’t want it out of the bowl, though. No, he had his very own spoon and an enabling daddy who’d sit there patiently and feed Shmoo spoonfuls in between his own bites of ice-cream. Pretty damn cute.
And people say cats don’t have unique personalities…
Author : free webcam sex (IP: 126.96.36.199 , 188.8.131.52.rdns.ubiquityservers.com)
E-mail : Feeling7630@captain69.com
Comment: Your web page is like pie, they are cute and cute. I’ve simply strolling
from each web page to web page except I met horny topic in this page. From first
impression, I underestimate your topic ideas, nevertheless it is my fault,
sorry for thinking this (I instructed you what I assumed in my mind).
That is my dangerous behavior, sorry to listen to that. Despite the fact that
it changed into my unhealthy signal for future, however I understand that my mind
can be used for different experimental research with you. Please note that I write this
comment based on true story, and you're the chosen one to make this decision. I
want you to transform my accomplice in desired subject, we are able to examine
together with our skills, and also you get the benefit by getting new expertise
with me. Sorry for giving my invitation on this remark web page, but when you
don’t mind, you'll be able to give me your opinion about my comment, I’m
enthusiastic about creating your web site as large web site, so you can use it
as your passive income.
I just find these comments fascinating... The page on which they 'met horny topic',
Fell is no longer a kitten, but still so adorable I can’t resist putting up her photo for today’s post, which is, btw, the last in my month long “I Will Post Daily!” endeavor. Not that I’m going to stop posting (the whole point of this exercise was to get back into the habit of writing daily and putting regular content on my blog), but I’m not going to be quite as Draconian about posting every day.
We call Fell “Wee Fell” because when she was a kitten, she was a tiny scrap of a thing with huge ears and not much else. She and her brother Fro (short for Frohicke, although we call him Fro, Frodo, Froyo, NO FRO!) were originally fostered by friends of ours and supposed to go to a rescue organization in Marin, but Fell was diagnosed with Feline Leukemia so they ended up coming to our guest room for quarantine until she could be tested again. There are a lot of false positives when kittens are tested too young. Subsequent testing showed she was clear and by this time, lots of feline pattypaw had been played under the door between Fell and Fro, and our cats. When quarantine was lifted, the two immediately integrated into the horde without any fuss or fighting. So… now Wee Fell (not so wee but just as cute) and Fro (the underwear thief I’ve written about in earlier posts) are part of the family.
Have you ever been working on a story or book and known exactly what it is you need/want to happen in the scene you’re writing, written a sentence that sparked some random thought that then spirals off into a digression about the background of a minor character that suddenly decides he/she wants more page time?
And wow, how about that run-on sentence?
Seriously, though, I was working on my current novel FIXATION (shapeshifting jaguars, Olmec deities and other goodies) and all I had to do was get my heroine through a garage to her little cottage in the backyard of an old SF house. Simple, right?
Well, theoretically, yes. But my mind started off on a tangent involving the contents of the garage, the heroine’s landlord, dumpster diving and art. Yeah, I know… WTF? I have 200 pages (the standard length of a Ravenous Romance novel) to play with and lots of action and sex to get in this book. And yet my brain insists that I need this extra bit of information about a character who, before I had my heroine enter the garage, was never going to actually get any “screen time.”
Now, however? He’s looking to feature fairly heavily in the plot, all because I started wondering what this guy would have in his garage.
My mind works in mysterious ways.
And yes, I’m talking about my cats. Would a human child systematically pry open my lingerie drawer and pull out my bras and assorted frilly undergarments and drag them around the house?
But would this same child also … well, I’m getting ahead of myself.
While at work on Thursday I kept smelling the sadly familiar smell of cat whiz. I checked my jeans, shirt and shoes, all of which came up clean. The same thing happened Friday morning and I did the same check, just in case I missed something Thursday. Again, couldn’t find a source.
Great. Instead of hearing voices, I’m smelling phantom pee.
I had a yoga class Friday at noon. No cat pee smell during class. When I changed back into my street clothes, however, I noticed a suspicious odor wafting from my bra (the same one I wore the day before) and took a good whiff. Yup, one of my vile little felines had marked my bra.
Still not as horrible as the Russian Pee Cookie tale of terror, but I’m here to tell you if they weren’t so damn cute and affectionate…
Buying deadbolts for my dresser drawers.